So I'm not going to say a lot, just give these to you." She walked around the table, placing before each warrior a deed for six hundred and forty acres of prime foothill land. "If you want to farm, there's good bottom land and water on each of these. Wil, there is water, isn't there?"

"I checked each plot," Wilson said. "There's enough water there to support a good herd. If not, bring that deed back to me and I'll personally swap it for any square mile of land I have."

"There's also solid rock under the hills above your farmland. There's no way to tell, but most every hill around here has some valuable minerals in it. As for petrocarbons, you'll just have to take your chances with the rest of us."

Grace paused back at her chair. "I know you are warriors, and land may not mean the same to you that it does to me. But this is the best that I have to give you . . . this land that we stand on . . . and my thanks."

Ben stood as Grace took her chair. He glanced at his comrades, then spoke to the townspeople. "Times have been strange for us. We trained in the art of war, but lived in a time that did not demand greatness from us. When the fighting came, no one wanted us. I thank you, Grace, for giving us a chance to show our skills. And I thank you for giving us this land, the land of your ancestors. Now we stand with you, on land that is yours and ours. Thank you."

The others said thank you, though Grace doubted Danny was interested in land that lacked a pub.

Probably none of them ever thought of more ground than the six-foot plot they would be buried in. Well, times were changing for all of them.We'll see what tomorrow brings, Grace thought, and cleared her throat.

"Getting down to business: Are we anywhere close to ready?" Around the table, heads shook slowly.

"They're good men and women," Danny said, "but they're good men and women who've spent less than two weeks learning how to soldier."

Ben leaned forward. "The Navajos have shown them how to dig, and Sean has told them why a shovel is the infantry's best friend. Most know to hold their first shot until it counts. Beyond that, I don't know.

They don't know the men to their right or the women to their left nearly well enough. When the first one runs, the next one may run, too," he said. "How is our ammunition?"

Sven pursed his lips. "Not as bad as I feared. The chemist is a miracle worker. We'll have high-explosive antiarmor sh.e.l.ls for the rocket grenades and tungsten penetrators for the thirty-millimeter guns. Any 'Mechs meet our infantry, they'll know we are there. Medium-range rockets for the 'Mechs and the gun trucks. One load, no more. I've got Gatlings enough to go around, thirty-millimeter for the 'Mech MODs, twenty-millimeter for the gun trucks. And don't shoot it all off the first time a blade of gra.s.s bends, you warrior types. There's not a lot more ammo where that comes from."

"So the raiders show up tomorrow, and we are not ready," Grace said in summation.

"You didn't really think it would be different," Syn said, lounging in her chair. The exBannson's Raider wore a brightly colored wisp of cloth she'd bought from a Donga River merchant. Jobe eyed her as though he wanted to make her his third wife, or at least tonight's wife. The eyes she threw his way were full of yes.

There was a knock at the door, and Angus ducked his head in. "I thought I'd find you here. Have you been monitoring the Net?"

"Not since it quit saying anything helpful," Grace said.

"The inbound ship broke its silence. It wants all town mayors to meet the ship on landing. It rattled off a list of fifty. You were right there in the O's."

"Were Jobe and Chato included?"

The old lawyer paused for a second. "I don't think so."

"Why do I not feel offended at that?" Jobe said with a toothy smile. "Grace, you cannot go. This smells like a white man's plot to get all his enemies in one place and kill them."

"Jobe, you have to quit a.s.suming everything is a white man's trick to get at everyone else. As young Sean can tell you, the English white man was using it on his Irish and Scottish cousins long before he knew there was anyone else to beat up."

"I'll take your word for it, Grace," Chato said, "but I agree with Jobe. This does not look like a place you want to be."

"She could wear battle armor," Sean said.

Grace shook her head. "That's not the image I want to project."

"I agree," Ben said. "Go gracefully or not at all."

"I am going. If the rest are greeting the raiders with drinks and munchies, I don't want to stand out like a grenade among the chicken wings," Grace said, smiling at her own joke. "Let's play it the raiders' way for now since we aren't ready to waltz into the s.p.a.ceport and start the fight.

"Chato, Jobe, Ben, you're in charge while I'm gone. You call the meetings and see that everyone is happy by the end."

"Grace, I will not be able to. I go with you," Ben said.

"You aren't required to."

"That's exactly why I go. You need backup. It can come from an unexpected direction if I am with you."

"You're needed here."

"Now, didn't they tell us the first day in camp," Danny drawled, "that no man jack of us is irreplaceable.

I say if the crazy Cat dreamer wants to go, we let him. I sure don't want him organizing a battle I'm in based on one of his wet dreams."

Ben's growl showed teeth, but Danny kept smiling.

"Well, if that's all settled," Syn said, standing in a way that backlit what she was wearing and showed all she wasn't, "I have places to go and things to do tonight."

"Me, too," Jobe said.

"I will pick both of you up in the morning," Angus said to Grace and Ben.

The drive to Allabad was both faster and slower than the trip up. Two weeks ago, they had driven straight through, but the heavily loaded trucks had kept them to a slow pace. Now they drove as fast as Wilson's new 4x4 could go on the gravel or heavily potholed roads, but called a halt at dark to spend the night at a small hostel.

Grace figured this was a good time to get to know Ben better, but she found him as strange a person as she'd ever met. For someone who had ten fingers and ten toes, the man was totally alien. Raised as part of a battle group from his earliest memories, she could not relate to his youth any more than he could understand her fond memories of learning her trade at her father's side. Her feelings surrounding the loss of her father left him silent.

In the end, they spent the trip studying the terrain they drove through, and ways to defend or attack across it.

Garry McGuire called Grace as they drove into Allabad; he wanted to talk to her. Angus offered his home to Grace, but slipped out to meet with friends before Garry showed up at five.

"The raiders are landing tomorrow, you know, at ten. Lots to do," Garry huffed.

"I hear you were elected Governor Pro Tem," Grace said.

"Yes, yes, unanimously," he said proudly. By the last twenty-seven members present, Grace had heard.

"Now here is how I want things to go. We'll all line up in the terminal, all fifty of us. Strange-none of those who were so fast to show up at the Guild Hall are fighting to get into this meeting. Anyway, we line up, I tell our visitors they are welcome and the Constabulary has been dissolved and no one will shoot at them. You understand? No one will provoke them in the slightest."

Grace wanted to ask Garry what he'd do when the first merc grabbed his daughter, but she knew he had only boys. Another one of those great plans thought up by guys who didn't think about how the other half of the species lived. But Grace only nodded nicely. Now was no time to fight Garry.

If she was going to fight, he was way down her list.

Angus returned late and more than three sheets to the wind. As she helped him to bed, the old man mumbled what he thought was important. "They don't have any idea what to do, Gracie. They don't have any idea. The men are scared. Wives are terrified. Everyone who can is getting their families out-out anywhere. I told them about what you'd done at Falkirk. I told them to take three months'

supplies. Some said they'd go. Others just don't know." He was mumbling, "Don't know," as he drifted off to sleep.

Done, Grace went to her room, wondering if she would die tomorrow. If Jobe was right, the raiders would machine-gun them to . . . what? Impress the locals. Get rid of opposition. From the sound of Garry, there wasn't any opposition. She could almost hear him going from door to door, telling everyone to just be quiet, to not cause trouble.

What would he say to the raped widow, if it came to that? On that thought, Grace changed into her nightdress and got in bed. Thirty minutes later she was no closer to sleep, then there was an annoying rattling at her window. She got up, unlatched it, and was about to slam it down solidly when a hand reached in.

"Took you long enough. You asleep?" Betsy Ross whispered as she slipped in. Tight black pants, sweater, boots and hood made her nearly invisible.

A soft scratching on Grace's door was followed by Ben slipping in, also all in black, but unable to hide the whiteness of his hands, face, and feet.

"What have you found out, Betsy?" he asked the woman.

"Who killed the Governor and the Legate, for starters," Betsy whispered, as Grace struggled to catch every word. "Headmen got offed by a couple of ex-Constabulary boys. You know the type-dirty cops thrown off the force instead of being sent to do hard time. But the trail led off-planet. Don't know where, but I got a job as a maid at the townhouse Lenzo Computing Industries has kept for off-world salespeople the last couple of years. Lately it's been full of meetings. I've got a pretty solid org chart.

Most are Industrial Trade Group. I know the players. What I don't know is what they're playing at. I'm not surethey do," she said, frowning.

Ben nodded. "You have done a good job, Betsy, at a hard task. Tomorrow we will find out which merc organization has the contract and what they intend to do. Unless you know already?"

"Nope. The off-planet crew is playing it very close. No one here knows what's coming; they're just getting ready for anything."

"Santorini works for Lenzo Computing," Grace pointed out.

"Yes," Betsy agreed. "He's a loose cannon there, full of talk about his contacts with Landgrave Jasek and the Stormhammers. Strange, you don't hear much about him from Jasek." Betsy smiled. "For what it's worth, I'm betting Santorini is deep into this-but what I'm willing to bet on and what I know are not the same."

Grace nodded at the ambiguity. She also noted the quality of information Betsy had just given, far more than she would have expected of an out-of-work merc-infantry type.Who would know what was going on across three, four planets? Interesting. Back to what mattered now. "Will you be at the port tomorrow?"

Betsy shrugged. "Never know where I'll be until I get there."

"Have you heard anything about what's going to happen at the port? Uh, some of us are-"

"Wondering if you need to bother buying a round-trip ticket?" Betsy finished for Grace. "No guarantee on this, but I'd buy the extra ticket. Worse comes to worst, your kids can inherit it."

"I don't have kids," Grace said.

"Don't blame me for your poor planning, honey. Now I've got to go. My break is sure to be over, and I've got floors to clean."

Grace turned to say something to Ben, but he was gone as silently as he had come. She closed the window, locked it, and went to bed. Tossing, Grace tried to a.s.sess what Betsy had let spill. She wondered if more than the people on Alkalurops were concerned with what happened on this planet. No answers came to any of her questions, but she fell asleep trying to make some up.

The port parking lot was mostly empty when Grace drove into it. She'd skipped breakfast. Even with Betsy's erstwhile promise, Grace's stomach was little interested in food. Others got out of cars and walked toward the terminal. No one hailed anyone. Alone, they walked in silence. In the terminal hall, no one worked the ticket booths. No one was visible at all. Grace took her place in a group of people growing in disorder around Garry. She found a metal trash can next to a pillar; it should provide cover.

The building shook with the sonic boom of a DropShip entering atmosphere. Several mayors made a hasty retreat to the rest rooms. All came back sheepishly by the time the weight of the DropShip settling into its berth made the terminal groan.

For five long minutes they waited. Then sounds began to come from the concourse that led to Drop Bay One. Grace could not make out the words, but she didn't need to. She'd heard orders being shouted at the merc camps. She'd heard feet moving in unison. Troops were disembarking, forming up. An engine gunned to life, and hoverbikes moved unseen. Deeper down, on the heavy-equipment level, she heard the unmistakable tread of BattleMechs. The building trembled as if a tornado was loose inside it.

The next order she did understand. "Forward, march."

The tread of a hundred fighters marching in step came up the concourse. Two hoverbikes came out first, their drivers eyeing the group as they circled them. The gunners kept their weapons pointed at the roof, but it was clear that the machine guns rode free on their pintles. A quick bend of the elbow, a twitch of the fingers was all it would take for them to turn deadly.

Running feet added to the noise level as several mayors broke for the rest rooms, some for the second time.

Now marching feet filled the terminal. Two platoons, two companies-Grace had no idea, but there were plenty of hard men and women in khaki with guns held at the ready. They moved as one as they marched into the hall. Behind them marched a small group. Grace didn't need to be told this was the command group-the Sergeant Major was there, towering like a rock.

Grace spotted him before she recognized the commander. "G.o.d d.a.m.n you, you mercenary b.a.s.t.a.r.d,"

she breathed, and meant every word of it with a flaming anger that fit her red hair and would get her a long penance from the padre next time she was in town. "G.o.d d.a.m.n you to h.e.l.l," she said, "Major Loren J. Hanson."

9.

Allabad, Alkalurops Prefecture IX, The Republic of the Sphere 11 August 3134; local summer.

L. J. enjoyed the rush. He loved the cadence, the movement of uniformed and armed troops through the military ballet that allowed large numbers to move from one place to another with efficiency and poise.

He'd been told by civilians more than once that it was terrifying, but to L. J., it was a thing of beauty.

Then civilians galloped for the latrines. Did they really think he'd shoot them? "Battalion," he called, to be echoed immediately by "Company," from the company commanders. "Halt," he ordered.

The tromp of marching feet cut off like the sound of death itself. Well, maybe there was good reason for civilians to be scared. L. J. stepped forward. He spotted the fool who'd made himself Governor. L. J.

didn't know who his client was, but he wouldn't give a handful of wet sand for this man's chances.

"Leaders of Alkalurops, now hear this. I am Major Loren J. Hanson of the Roughriders. I am under contract to conduct the seizure and occupation of your planet. There being no military opposition in evidence, I will consider your planet seized and advance immediately to occupation. Are there any objections?"

He eyed the collection of trembling civilians huddled before him. They seemed hard-pressed to stay on their feet, much less to resist the troops surrounding them. No, not all. That redhead way in the back-she was more mad than scared. She must be from a small town because he didn't have her picture. She did look familiar, though. . . .

"There being no objections, I am placing Alkalurops under martial law. Violation of any of the articles of this law can and will be punished accordingly, up to and including summary execution. Your 'puters have received a copy of the new laws. Read them. Obey them. Copies are also being posted on your global Net. Note that civil gatherings of more than ten people are now illegal. That means the gabfest at the Guild Hall is over. All civil appointments are now subject to the confirmation of my officers. For now, you mayors will continue to function and maintain civil order. Fail in that and you will be replaced and punished as seems appropriate."d.a.m.n. L. J. had read the riot act to drunk and disorderly troops, to troops on the verge of mutiny. He'd seen more life in the eyes of a two-week-dead dog. How could people call this living?

"If there are no further questions, you are dismissed."

The mob broke for the doors. In a moment his troops were alone in the echoing hall. Not quite. The sound of one woman walking toward him with the measured tread of a soldier drew his eyes to the redhead.Lovely woman. Be a shame to kill her.

"Redhead is Grace O'Malley, sir," Topkick said low behind him. "She tried to hire us a short while back on Galatea."

"I remember her now. Sergeant Major, dismiss the troops to guard duty or work details. Adjutant, see to quartering the troops. XO, oversee the unloading, please."

The woman approached as the Sergeant Major sent the troops to their duties.

"Should I thank you for not killing us, Major?" she said.

"Wasn't called for in my op orders, Grace," he said.

"Thank G.o.d and St. Patrick for small favors," she shot back. "So that was you in the little BattleMech I fought."

"I've never thought of aKoshi as little. Agile. Perfect for a long-range scout or a distant raid. What can I do for you? As you can probably surmise, I have a busy day ahead of me. And you need to get back to a small town up north, don't you? By the way, if you check Section Two of the new laws, being under arms is a capital crime if you aren't working for me."